


What Endures

by fauxpromises



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Short One Shot, Trust, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 14:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2551511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxpromises/pseuds/fauxpromises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A smile graced his face as she disappeared from the room, his mind already wandering again. This time, however, it was to thoughts of having her to hold for the night rather than an empty hotel bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Endures

“Ugh, honey. Y'look like _hell_.”

The Spy raised an annoyed eyebrow at her as he grabbed the towel from the rack, pulling it into the shower after him. She stood at the sink with one hip sticking out slightly as she did her nightly preening—she seemed a bit more concerned about him than usual, though he supposed it might simply be that he was often too mentally preoccupied to notice those little nuances in her mannerism.

He decided to chuckle instead of get needlessly cross with her, even if he was pretty tired and irritable. “What, even after the shower? At least I smell fresh now.”

Despite being separated from view by the shower curtain, he guessed she had shrugged before speaking up. “I don't mean like dirty or anything. I mean—way too stressed out. Y'come home every week lookin' like this nowadays.”

The Frenchman rolled his eyes, wondering not for the first time how he could possibly explain to her what his daily duties and comrades did to his state of mind. It was much more warlike than any past situation or assignment he had found himself on, and coming off of it wasn't exactly something that could be done in a heartbeat.

She didn't wait for him to respond, however. “You finish gettin' changed, and I'm gonna go do the same. I'm just about ready to call it a night myself, with this heat.”

A smile graced his face as she disappeared from the room, his mind already wandering again. This time, however, it was to thoughts of having her to hold for the night rather than an empty hotel bed.

Still, he took his time as he slid into some comfortable pants, his back to his reflection in the mirror. He didn't quite like to look at the aging body that appeared there, reminding him that he was no longer in the same physical shape as he was mentally. In silence he brushed his teeth, touched up his shave a bit—their time together these days was so limited that he practically felt as anxious and excited for it as he did when he had barely known her.

He flicked the light off behind him as he left the washroom, rounding the corner into the room they occasionally shared now. More often hers than his, and somehow it felt like a private paradise when he came home to be there with her.

His lover was pulling a brush through her hair a few times as he sneaked his way over beside her, one arm curling affectionately about her waist. Her summer nightgown was sheer enough that he could distinctly feel the warmth of the body within it as he nuzzled his face into her dark hair, effectively preventing her from the task at hand.

“Are we done fussing yet, Mrs. Fontaine?” he teased into her neck, his free hand slyly confiscating the brush. She made a small aggravated sound, though he saw the smile on her lips as his own traveled down to her shoulder. His name had become hers for safekeeping, a name that he had given up in order to pursue his career without his past following him. It gave him no end of joy that she would share something with him like that, something he considered deeply personal. She proved that Renard Fontaine was not dead, that he _did_ exist despite all evidence to the contrary.

The Bostonian woman leaned back into him, gazing at the image of them intertwined in the bedroom mirror. Her smile grew as he ceased his kisses momentarily to simply breath in the scent at her neck, content with the feeling of her weight in his arms. It was not until she sighed his name lazily that deft fingers wandered further down to caress her hip.

“Won't even let me get pretty for you anymore, I guess,” she complained halfheartedly, the teasing practically unnecessary. He already was drawn in. _More_ than drawn in, even.

The Spy smirked as she turned to face him, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You don't need to get any prettier. I find you quite satisfactory as you presently are.”

His response was so deadpan and serious that she couldn't help chuckling herself. He smiled against the next kiss that she pressed to his lips, already at work on the buttons at the front of her nightgown. Her body tensed a bit with anticipation, only for him to throw her off by stopping midway. A trail of gentle kisses followed the open fabric, eliciting a muffled gasp from her that set his blood on fire.

The rare smile on his face only grew as her eyes wandered meaningfully toward the pristine bed—one place he felt more than certain that he could leave behind the troubling thoughts of his daily life.

Her lips crashed back into his, and he surrendered himself to bliss.


End file.
